about!”
All chatter and nervous movement ceased when the crowd in front of the mansion could hear the hooves of the cavalry escort, and then the crack of stone as wheels rolled over the pebbled road. And all eyes became fixed on the magnificent six-horse gold and blue carriage when it loomed into sight and rumbled around the oval lawn and fountain of the courtyard. The major of the cavalry stopped to doff his hat to the Earl, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. And then the great carriage slowed to a walk, and halted at the foot of the wide flagstone walkway that led to the steps. A train of seven other carriages, less ostentatious, pulled up behind the Duke’s.
A footman leapt from the back of the post-chaise and ran to open a door and place a gilded stool beneath it. As the Duke descended from the carriage, the bandmaster struck up the “Dorsetshire March.” Possibly the Duke had never heard it before, for he winced; no one dared to inquire whether it was because he was startled or because he found the raucous cacophony unbearable. He stood for a moment, watching the band, with an enigmatic but respectful smile, then turned and handed out a woman in a hood and cloak. This was Maud Harris, a London actress, and his current mistress. She was in her early twenties, and had a vaguely beautiful face and a permanent smirk made more pronounced by her flaunted liaison with the Duke. She was introduced by him to strangers as Miss Harris; in fact, she was Mrs. Harris, wife of the owner of a theater company from which she had taken a leave. Her leave had been bought with a handsome, discreet endowment from the Duke that would allow the company to play to empty houses for two years.
Miss Harris, too, glanced in amazement at the band. She touched a rolled fan to her lips to stifle a laugh. “Milord!” she said under her breath. “Not even Mr. Handel’s baton could salvage
that
!”
“Perhaps not,” replied Cumberland. “Still, it has some martial charm.”
Miss Harris giggled. “I know, milord! The next time you face the French, you could have
this
band play that
agony
in the field, and give them so thorough a fright that their ranks would drop their arms to hold theirears! And the day would be yours!”
Cumberland chuckled. “Miss Harris, you are
too
droll!”
The Earl stood a few feet away, with his brother and the Baroness, waiting for the right moment. He stepped forward now as Cumberland offered his arm to Miss Harris and turned. The Earl bowed low to the Duke and faultlessly doffed his hat in a broad sweep. “Welcome to Danvers, your grace. You honor us with this visit.”
“Thank you, Lord Basil,” replied the Duke. “Your hospitality is gracious.” Cumberland smiled. “But, my word, sir! You
do
make a man feel at home! I had not expected such a commotion!”
The Earl nodded. “I would be pleased if you regarded it as a hero’s welcome, your grace. It is rare that we see men of your eminence in these parts.” He then introduced his brother and the Baroness. The Baron bowed in the same manner as did his brother, while the Baroness performed a low, solemn curtsy.
Pleasantries were exchanged. In time, the principal members of the entourage left their carriages and joined the Duke. More introductions were made: to Rear Admiral Sir Francis Edward Harle; to twenty-five-year-old Lieutenant-Colonel James Wolfe, seconded from the 20th Regiment of Foot and temporarily rescued from a binge of dissipation in London by the Duke’s need for his military advice; to Major General Sir John Ligonier, the Duke’s personal advisor; to Everard Fawkner, his secretary and chief-of-staff. A gaggle of aides, adjutants, secretaries, servants, including the Duke’s own barber and valets, debouched from other carriages and stood in the background, waiting for Cumberland to enter the mansion. The troop of cavalry had formed in two lines on the Danvers lawn and was also waiting. A number of townsfolk had also gathered on
All chatter and nervous movement ceased when the crowd in front of the mansion could hear the hooves of the cavalry escort, and then the crack of stone as wheels rolled over the pebbled road. And all eyes became fixed on the magnificent six-horse gold and blue carriage when it loomed into sight and rumbled around the oval lawn and fountain of the courtyard. The major of the cavalry stopped to doff his hat to the Earl, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. And then the great carriage slowed to a walk, and halted at the foot of the wide flagstone walkway that led to the steps. A train of seven other carriages, less ostentatious, pulled up behind the Duke’s.
A footman leapt from the back of the post-chaise and ran to open a door and place a gilded stool beneath it. As the Duke descended from the carriage, the bandmaster struck up the “Dorsetshire March.” Possibly the Duke had never heard it before, for he winced; no one dared to inquire whether it was because he was startled or because he found the raucous cacophony unbearable. He stood for a moment, watching the band, with an enigmatic but respectful smile, then turned and handed out a woman in a hood and cloak. This was Maud Harris, a London actress, and his current mistress. She was in her early twenties, and had a vaguely beautiful face and a permanent smirk made more pronounced by her flaunted liaison with the Duke. She was introduced by him to strangers as Miss Harris; in fact, she was Mrs. Harris, wife of the owner of a theater company from which she had taken a leave. Her leave had been bought with a handsome, discreet endowment from the Duke that would allow the company to play to empty houses for two years.
Miss Harris, too, glanced in amazement at the band. She touched a rolled fan to her lips to stifle a laugh. “Milord!” she said under her breath. “Not even Mr. Handel’s baton could salvage
that
!”
“Perhaps not,” replied Cumberland. “Still, it has some martial charm.”
Miss Harris giggled. “I know, milord! The next time you face the French, you could have
this
band play that
agony
in the field, and give them so thorough a fright that their ranks would drop their arms to hold theirears! And the day would be yours!”
Cumberland chuckled. “Miss Harris, you are
too
droll!”
The Earl stood a few feet away, with his brother and the Baroness, waiting for the right moment. He stepped forward now as Cumberland offered his arm to Miss Harris and turned. The Earl bowed low to the Duke and faultlessly doffed his hat in a broad sweep. “Welcome to Danvers, your grace. You honor us with this visit.”
“Thank you, Lord Basil,” replied the Duke. “Your hospitality is gracious.” Cumberland smiled. “But, my word, sir! You
do
make a man feel at home! I had not expected such a commotion!”
The Earl nodded. “I would be pleased if you regarded it as a hero’s welcome, your grace. It is rare that we see men of your eminence in these parts.” He then introduced his brother and the Baroness. The Baron bowed in the same manner as did his brother, while the Baroness performed a low, solemn curtsy.
Pleasantries were exchanged. In time, the principal members of the entourage left their carriages and joined the Duke. More introductions were made: to Rear Admiral Sir Francis Edward Harle; to twenty-five-year-old Lieutenant-Colonel James Wolfe, seconded from the 20th Regiment of Foot and temporarily rescued from a binge of dissipation in London by the Duke’s need for his military advice; to Major General Sir John Ligonier, the Duke’s personal advisor; to Everard Fawkner, his secretary and chief-of-staff. A gaggle of aides, adjutants, secretaries, servants, including the Duke’s own barber and valets, debouched from other carriages and stood in the background, waiting for Cumberland to enter the mansion. The troop of cavalry had formed in two lines on the Danvers lawn and was also waiting. A number of townsfolk had also gathered on
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